


Club Beats

by S-684 (orphan_account)



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Casual Sex, Other, Public Sex, Young Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 16:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12686058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/S-684
Summary: It was there, in that shitty little club outside your solar system, that you learned what it meant to feel alive.-The is first thing I've written in years, please take it.





	Club Beats

You never were really into music until him.

Sure, you listened to it, it was inevitable. But the planet you come from wasn't really focused on art and, by extension, music. Anything that carried a beat would never be found on your small planet, as unimportant and bland as you felt when you stepped into this club. There was a haze, a pink smoke billowing from tall glass vases, the smell of something light and citrus that you can't name. You had pushed your way to the bar, tucking yourself into a seat between a sentient rock and a blue-haired man.

If you had known he would change your life, maybe you would have noticed him sooner. He made a whistling noise and as you turned, he wasted no time in offering you a drink or two, mouth going a mile a minute as he spoke about seemingly nothing at all. You told yourself to accept, if only to be polite. The bartender pushed a wobbling glass of some viscous, awful smelling liqour towards you- it burned all the way down your insides, and for a moment you thought you might puke- 

"Hits like truck, huh babe?" He laughed, downing his own in no time flat. "H-hey, another!" He seemed to be drooling, slamming his glass on the counter and wiping his mouth.

He was as enthusiastic as he was strange, blue hair spiked and eyeliner dark. As he introduced himself, you studied him- he wore a thick black collar, had several piercings, and his shirt was so loose and stretched it wasn't hardly a top anymore. You follow his words but only barely, his stutter prominent and tone gravelly. Boisterous and loud, Rick Sanchez was unlike any other man you've ever met, and as a travelling alien, that was saying a lot. He would go on and on about his band over more drinks, laughter carrying from the bar and across the whole club, until people were cheering and shoving him up on a shitty little stage in the back, past the dance floor. His friends joined in, and they played a blaring tune that made your ears pop, the rhythm pulsing in your veins, the crowd lighting up around you.

It was there, in that shitty little club outside your solar system, that you learned what it meant to feel alive. Your body felt electric, moving to the beat of his song and bouncing about in the front of the crowd, the warmth of several alien bodies pressing on to yours as they drank and danced and cheered- 

A smile lit up your face as his gaze landed on you, and you knew that was it. Nothing was ever going to feel like this- like HIM- and nothing you could ever do would change it. 

After his little show, he pushed back through the crowd pulling you by the arm as he passed. You trail him closely, his skin against yours sending fire along your spine, and you don't even notice you're outside until he tugs you into an alley and pushes you against a chilly wall, his mouth working against your throat. A high little moan drips past your lips, and you feel his grin on your pulse.

"Enjoy the show, b-babe?" He nips up to your ear, biting harshly before drinking your groan up with his lips. He tasted like that awful drink you had earlier in the night.

"A-ah, yeah I did, I-" his hands trail over your hips, squeezing them in his hands. It was as if you were set ablaze, your legs giving out on you and shit, just how drunk were you? He says something into your chest before he's undoing your fly, dipping his hand into your underwear and making the most delicious sounding groan you've ever heard.

"F-fuck," he grunts, and you think you can feel how warm he is, the sound of his heart pounding, a stuttering beat compared to your deep thrumming tones. You reach for his belt buckle, and after that moment, everything seems like a blur.

He's shifting your pants down and you're doing your damnedest to get him out of his- the sound of the club is booming in your ears- and you beg for him, rolling your hips against his fingers, asking so nicely if he'd please fuck you, please please- 

'There must be a god,' you think, because you feel like you're taking your first breath as he fucks into you, spreading you open wide with his cock, an incoherent babble of praise leaving his lips. And if there isn't a god, you think that you probably didn't exist until now. This alley is the place where your consciousness finally came into being, an orchestra of flesh slapping on flesh- the chorus of your joined moans the only thing grounding the both of you planetways.

It felt like it was over too soon when you came crashing down onto him, gripping him within you as he comes, filling you up and only pulling out when he was able to hold his own legs up underneath himself.

"We should get- we should do that again sometime," he grins, zipping up his fly as you sink to the ground, breaths coming in heaving gasps.

Rick Sanchez opened your eyes to music, a bit more, and you're pretty sure he's a god.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmu on my tumblr: dimensions684.tumblr.com


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